18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Cole

I feel like an idiot. A teenage idiot full of hormones as he waits for his longtime crush to show up for a study session set up solely to get some time alone with her. Not that I'm speaking from experience…

Though I generally consider myself a neat person, I spend Sunday morning deep cleaning my house. I order a grocery delivery with way more food than I could eat in a week—and I can eat a lot. I spend nearly an hour in the shower, both to ensure I am fully clean and because I have a stern conversation with myself about setting boundaries and sticking to them, which has never been a problem for me before.

But when Carissa rings my doorbell and greets me while wearing a flowery pink sundress that accentuates the blush of her cheeks, I'm ready to throw those boundaries out the window.

"Hi," she says with a warm smile .

I think I smile back, but I'm not fully in control of my faculties at the moment. She doesn't look any different than she did the last time she was at Derek's, but something about Carissa in a dress has me stunned. Overcome.

She points a finger at me. "You'd better stop that, Coleman Evanson."

"Stop what?" I manage to say.

"Stop looking at me like you want to devour me. I came here to make rules, remember?"

Why? Why do we need to make rules? Because of my stupid curse? That's all it is. Stupid .

Easy, Cole . I can't risk her safety just because I'm attracted to her.

I step aside to let her in, and the way she smiles at the sight of my space feels like a tightening vise around my heart. It's a welcome change from the ache I've been stuck with for the last half a year, but so very dangerous. I both want to cling to this feeling and run away before it becomes permanent.

I clear my throat. "So."

Carissa's smile grows. "So."

"I thought you could help me make lunch." Did I decide to have her help because cooking together is a perfect way to flirt and be in each other's space and accidentally touch? Yes. Am I regretting that decision?

Nope.

Carissa narrows her eyes as she glances toward the kitchen. "You are trouble, you know that?"

"Is that a no?"

"I'd love to help. But that doesn't mean you're not trouble." As she passes me to head into the kitchen, her hand runs along my chest to my shoulder, turning me to jelly. "And two can play at that game, Evanson."

By the time I work up the nerve to join her, she has already found an apron and tied it around her waist. She picked my favorite one, USC cardinal and gold with a worn Trojans logo splashed across the front .

"Is this where you went to school?" she asks, looking down at it.

I nod. "Gramps bought the apron as soon as I got accepted. Wore it every time he cooked during away games, for luck." Whenever I had home games, he and Dad were always in the stands cheering me on. I still remember my first college game and seeing them with the best seats they could buy.

Grabbing another apron—this one a plain red-checkered one—Carissa leans up on her toes to tuck it over my head. "Did Gramps buy one with the Badgers' logo too? I didn't see it in the pantry."

That's because I threw it out when I came back from Oregon. "Yeah, he probably has it somewhere at the other house," I lie.

"Do you ever miss football?"

This conversation is creeping in a direction I'd rather not go, but I'm finding it difficult to do or say anything that might upset the woman in front of me. I want to tell her everything. "I miss the game," I say, hoping she leaves it at that.

I may want to tell her everything, but that would be a terrible idea. It wouldn't just endanger my heart, trusting her that much, but it could put her in actual danger. If she knew about how half of my teammates were being paid to rig the games for certain outcomes, she might tell her sister. And no matter how much Tamlin Park might be changing her tune, that's a story no reporter worth her salt could resist.

A story like that would completely destroy the Badgers, and there are still good men on that team. Not to mention any of the perpetrators—the coach, the owner, even one of the players—would likely be able to trace the source back to me, and what would happen then? There's a lot of money in that scheme, which means a lot of potential danger for me and anyone associated with me.

"Whoa," Carissa says, stepping closer and looking up into my eyes. "Are you okay? You just got…glowery. "

I force my forehead to relax so I'm no longer glaring. "My football life was complicated," I say too sharply. "I don't like talking about it."

"Got it. What are we making for lunch?"

And that's that. I expected Carissa to push—Derek would have—but instead she let the subject drop. I exhale the breath I was holding in preparation to resist her persistence, and I feel almost dizzy. I'm overwhelmed by the sheer awe I feel when around this woman. "You…" I furrow my brow again, this time in confusion rather than frustration. "You don't want to know why it was complicated?"

She laughs, the sound filling my small kitchen with light. "Of course I want to know why. But you said you don't like to talk about it, and I respect that."

My reaction is instinctual and thoughtless and impulsive. Stepping forward, I bend down and press my lips to hers in an earnest kiss of gratitude. Then I freeze, my mouth still flush with hers.

"Oh," Carissa says against my lips.

Her open mouth and the taste of her breath are maddening, but I use every ounce of self-control I possess to keep from wrapping her in my arms and giving her a real kiss. That doesn't mean I move. We're both motionless, breaths mingling in the middle of my kitchen as if trapped in time.

Time's still moving with each tick of the clock in the living room, but I'm not so sure we're moving with it.

"I'm not sorry I just did that," I say, once I've found the will to speak.

My voice breaks the spell, and Carissa takes a step back. "I am," she says and brushes her tongue along her bottom lip.

Disappointment surges through me. "Oh."

But she smiles. "Only because now I want you to do it again." Though I step forward, she presses a hand to my chest to keep me at a distance. "This is why I said we should make rules, Cole. I'm starting to think my interest in you isn't going away anytime soon. "

This might be the strangest situation I've ever been in. "You're interested in me?" I ask, feeling a smile creep onto my mouth.

Carissa laughs. "Has that not been clear before now?"

"Just curious." I fold my arms to keep myself from reaching out and pulling her closer. Her hand still rests against my chest, and I'll let it stay there as long as she wants it to. She can probably feel the rapid beat of my heart, and I don't care. "For the record, I am extremely interested in you too."

A beautiful blush splashes across her cheeks. "But we shouldn't act on our interest."

I nod and lean closer. Not a lot, but enough for her to notice. "No, we shouldn't."

Oh, that blush. The way she colors so easily might be the death of me. "You're giving me mixed signals here, Cole. I mean it!"

"So do I." I chuckle and bite the inside of my lips as she shakes her head at me in clear frustration. "But that doesn't mean I like it."

We both have good reasons for sticking to a strictly platonic relationship, but I don't know if I've ever encountered anything that will be harder. Not now that I've gotten a taste of her and know without a doubt that she mirrors my attraction. I can't call what I did a kiss—not one worth remembering—and everything in me wants to show her how I really kiss.

"Maybe we should make our rules before lunch," she says, biting her bottom lip.

"None of that," I say immediately, pointing to her mouth. I take a large step back and swallow hard. "And no licking your lips either."

She grins. "Like this?" Running her tongue in a full, exaggerated circle around her mouth, she laughs when she catches sight of the pained look on my face. "Okay, I will avoid anything lip related as long as you stop flexing."

I glance down at my still-folded arms. "I'm not flexing. "

An agonizing moan ekes out of her. "Seriously?"

Well now I want to flex. And I do, if only to get that sound out of her again.

Carissa shuts her eyes as she groans. "This is going to be harder than I thought. You rugby men are something else."

"Are you telling me you're going to be drooling over the whole team every day?" I ask in a growl.

She sighs. "A little, but mostly just you."

"That's what I thought."

"Cole, this is ridiculous."

"I agree. Let's throw out the whole concept of rules."

When she looks at me again, something has shifted inside her. The amusement and attraction are gone, replaced by sadness and worry that instantly turn my blood to ice. "It's a bad idea, Cole. You and me. You know it is. I only just started with the team, and if we give that Hollywood Hot Scoop website a reason to poke around with a sharper stick, it's going to hurt us both."

I don't care what happens to me, but I hate the idea of anyone getting close enough to Carissa to hurt her. Stomach clenching, I drop my arms and nod. "Okay. You're right. You don't deserve to be dragged through the mud. And I need to figure out how I'm going to keep the team from falling apart while Moxie's in recovery, which is going to take all my concentration. Can't have you distracting me."

Carissa tucks her arms around herself, and I ache to hold her like I did last night. "Does this mean we're doomed to only ever be friends?"

"Ugh, I hope not." I shake my head, marveling at how quickly my whole life view has changed. A week ago, I was miserable because I thought I had lost the love of my life when Sage left me. Now…now I'm worried I'll never even get a chance with the woman who outshines Sage in every way. "I will treasure your friendship, Carissa. But I will always hope for more. "

She smiles. "Me too."

"But you're right, and the timing is…not great."

That gets a laugh out of her. "It's terrible."

"I can wait."

"Me too."

"Friends?" I hold out my hand to her, desperately hoping she'll take it.

She does, tucking her fingers into mine. "Friends." Her eyes, so warm and electric, lock onto mine and pull me in, and I'm only inches away when we both tug our hands free and retreat to opposite ends of the kitchen. "We should probably avoid touching entirely."

"Good idea," I agree.

"And only spend time together while at work."

"I like that even less than the no touching rule," I grumble but agree to that one as well. "If anyone asks, we're friends."

She giggles. "We are friends."

"And only friends," I confirm. "No matter how much I wish otherwise."

Her playful scowl weakens my resolve to an alarming degree, but I have to stand strong on this. We both do.

I cough, folding my arms again and dropping them once more when Carissa's eyes trace my arms. "Should we get cooking?" I ask, finally tying the ties of my apron. It's a good thing Carissa didn't try tying them for me, or we never would have gotten to the rules. "If we're late to the get-together at Derek's, they'll wonder why, and it's better if we avoid any questions."

She nods firmly and puts her hands on her hips, sporting her cardinal and gold apron with pride. "Tell me what to do, Chef. I'm all yours."

A rush of desire runs through me, and I shake my head. This is going to be the worst friendship of my life.